


Coffee Comfort

by PhakeFysics



Series: Fallen Hero - Abyss/Anton [16]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 07:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20542319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhakeFysics/pseuds/PhakeFysics
Summary: Herald's POV





	Coffee Comfort

_You're sat in front of the computer next to Josh, the two of you watching the news cast from the other side of the country - the city of Los Diablos. You're always eager to hear about the Rangers, the various vigilantes, the heroes winning the battle._

_Josh nudges you when the camera swings to the familiar, lithe form of Sidestep and you flush. You found Sidestep really interesting and mysterious. No one knew who was under the mask, at least not publically, but you suspect the way Marshal Charge could disarm with just his charisma, alone… well you wouldn't be surprised if he knew who Sidestep was under the hood._

_Josh playfully elbows you again when the camera moves to show Sidestep simply staring a villain down and watching them ram themselves into a nearby wall. You didn't know how Sidestep did it, not really, but it was cool nonetheless._

_-  
There's not a lot on Sidestep, but you glean anything you can from fansites to obnoxious tabloids. You'd relish the opportunity to meet them… but you knew Sidestep wasn't one for fans or autographs… still… maybe someday you could meet your hero._

_You yawn, having just woken up, and wander into the study - where the computer sat. Josh was already at the desk and you rub the sleep from your eyes, mumbling a sleepy 'good morning'._

_He doesn't answer you immediately._

_"Hey, Danny? Uhm… I'm really sorry…" he mutters and rolls to the side, hitting the spacebar to replay the news clip._

_You wander over and watch in horror, your mind forced to wake up with a jolt as you watch him… die._

_Your throat clenches up as the camera, all too smoothly, records his helpless fall. A police vehicle, graciously, blocks the view of the quick stop. You feel sick. It's not fair…_

_"I'm really sorry, Danny…"Josh mumbles. You feel numb. _  
-  
Jolting awake, you sit upright, viciously fighting off the bed sheets tangled around you, your entire form cold and slick with sweat. You hate that dream. Finally freeing yourself of the sheets, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and bury your face in your palms. It's all in the past, just a nightmare, it couldn't get you.

Looking around your dark room, you suddenly feel the cold isolation in your far-too-large bed. You want company...no you need it - need him.

Huffing a tired sigh, you get out of the bed, fully tossing the sheets aside and tiredly hobble to your bathroom. You know he'll be up, even at this hour. You just need the comfort of his presence, to know he's real enough to sass you. 

Tossing on some sweatpants, an old shirt and a hoodie, you grab your things and head out, flying to his apartment. Your head clears a little, high in the cold night sky and you sigh, floating up to the familiar window.

The light's on and you see him at his computer, one knee up, against his chest, his chin idly resting on it as he scrolls… whatever he's doing. You gently rap your knuckles on the window and he shoots an immediate glare at you. All you can do is mentally ask him _'Can I come in?'_

Huffing a sigh, he gets up, flicking a lock of hair behind his shoulder and coming over to unlatch the window.

"I'm sorry, sir, but the drive thru is closed. You can pull around and use the front door like normal people," he quips at you, his neutral look edging that irritation he sports with you most days.

You shove your hands nervously in your pockets, "Please? Just this once?" You give him the 'look' he always chides you for, flooding your thoughts with worry - knowing he'll pick up on them with ease.

His nose immediately crinkles as if he smelled something rotten, and for a brief moment, you fully believe he's going to slam the window on you… but he sighs and walks away, leaving it open.

You're too tired to form a full smile, the nightmare still having you rattled, as you step into his apartment - his sanctuary. You let your feet touch the ground and immediately regret doing so. It hurts to put your weight on and you stumble a bit.

You've come to realize how useless you are. Anton is right… once you clip the bird's wings...it's useless. You learn it over and over and still, Abyss has the scissors, clipping you everytime. You barely realize the tears sliding down your face and you can't find the sun in your thoughts. It's overcast with a high chance of rainstorms. You don't want to pretend to be happy right now.

You're pulled from your drowning thoughts when a warm hand grabs your's. Sniffling, you shove the heel of your palm against your eyes, squeezing his hand to anchor yourself. "I'm sorry, Anton, I-I just had a nightmare and I was alone and-" he hushes you with a gentle 'hey' and you're forced to stop and look up into those eyes of liquid gold. Just like the sun - bright and beautiful.

"How about some coffee?" He asks, looking away briefly. All you can do is weakly hobble along after him, into his living room. You don't want to let go of his hand and only briefly resist before allowing him to pull away. It's comfortable living- his apartment. He's done it up decently well, but not enough to be homey. He ushers you to sit on the couch and you do, sinking into it tiredly.

The whole apartment smells like him and you're lulled by it, letting your mind go pleasantly blank, which you figure is a relief to Anton. You could just fall asleep right here, knowing you'd be safe. You entertain the idea briefly, but quell it quick enough, hoping he didn't catch it. But you know he did, regardless.

Glancing over to the kitchen, you watch him mill around, grabbing cups and preparing the coffee grinder - of course he has an expensive, fancy coffee machine. You watch how his hair catches the light as he shifts and moves. You've never seen it down before, and you want to bury your face in it. You know what shampoo he uses - he threw it at you once - and you wonder what it smells like on him. It always looks so soft and silky. You wanted to run your fingers through it for hours.

How long does it take him to deal with it daily, considering it reaches well past his -

"A long time," he quips from the kitchen and your face heats up. You could never win around him, could you? You just pout and stuff your hands in your hoodie's pockets and try not to dwell on your nightmare - certainly not around Anton. Why dwell on the past? Why worry? Why be bothered? He's fine, he's here… so why do you feel the dark cloud hanging over you still, like he'll slip through your fingers?

You figure it's because Abyss knows who is he is now - they saw it… you're an idiot. You were scared, weak, pathetic. How are you supposed to be the Hero everyone wants when you barely want it yourself anymore? You can barely fight off one maniac...even with the help of the others. 

Your eyes trail to a corner of the living room you hadn't noticed, and you immediately get to your feet, wincing at the sudden shift and weight. You give up and hover over, eyes wide at the beautiful swaths of color and shape. It's… you're overwhelmed.

It's as if Gerhard Richter and Claude Monet had some surreal collaboration on a canvas and you only now realize it's recently been worked on - the pungent smell of oil paints still cling to the canvas and you're lost in it's brilliant colors.

You love it. You love him. He surprises and astounds you every day and you can't help but feel the keen yearning for him in your chest. You wonder where he studied-

"I didn't study anywhere… just… liked the hobby and did whatever," you're pulled from your thoughts so hard, you get whiplash and look back at him.

He's sitting on one end of the couch, watching you with that schooled neutral gaze he always held. His eyes burn into yours and you look away, "S-sorry, I just… it's… it's cool, I guess," you shrug noncommittally and come back over to sit on the other side of the couch.

He just raises an eyebrow at you, "Wouldn't expect you to have such a… visceral reaction, I suppose."

"Oh, I finally surprised you?" You grin, picking up the mug and letting the heat of the mug against your hands ground you. He just hums, not looking at you as he sips his own coffee. A comfortable and warm silence descends upon you both and you stare at the painting, admiring it. 

"Do you… paint much?" You look back over at him and he shrugs a shoulder, just as noncommittally as you did earlier. "Not as much as I'd like to."

"Yeah, me neither," you admit sheepishly.

"You paint?" His eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise.

"I like sketching…" you try to deflect, suddenly feeling sheepish around him. Your heart flutters at the idea of sharing a passion for art with him, but you know not to pry or force him into anything, so you just admire it from afar, sipping your coffee.

"So why did you come over?" He asks, changing the subject, like he couldn't read your mind, knowing exactly why you came over.

"I'm… scared," you admit, voice hoarse in a whisper. You stare down into your coffee, sighing.

"I just… wanted to be around someone…"

"And you picked me?"

"I suppose I did…" you mutter, not daring to look up and risk getting lost in those golden eyes.

He hums, sipping his coffee, "I can't imagine Chen being an exceptional comfort," he mutters.

You bark a laugh, "No, not really. And I like being around you. You let me be normal… I can be Danny around you… just Danny."

"Hmm, I dunno, that seems exceptionally dangerous," he teases, leaning back against the couch and crossing one leg over the other as he holds his gaze on you, making you fidget a bit.

"Does it? To just be who I am? Who we are? Is that really so dangerous?"

He doesn't answer, instead opting to sip his coffee. You still hear the 'yes' in the movement and look back at the painting - feeling the pain in it. The emotions grip you by the throat and you realize just how much Anton feels like he can never he himself. Only the canvas knew who he was in the briefest of moments. 

Maybe someday he'd feel comfortable enough to open up to you… you knew better than to drag him out, kicking and screaming. If nothing else, you were patient. You would wait, and be there with open arms.


End file.
